Untitled Next Generation Theodore Nott Story
by Tara Lux
Summary: In 2020, Theodore Nott is arrested and gets sent to Azkaban for his crimes with an illegal, unregistered Time Turner and for a lengthy, intensely violent duel with the famous Auror Harry Potter, who is now also head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Welcome to the next generation, where Harry's generation is now in their late 30's with families and dark secrets aplenty.


In 2020, Theodore Nott is arrested and gets sent again to Azkaban for his crimes with the illegal, unregistered Time Turner and for a lengthy, intense duel with the famous Auror Harry Potter, who is now also head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. (This is all real, true canon, as written by JK Rowling.) It is not described as to whether he is still a Death Eater, or just a regular run-of-the-mill Dark wizard. I'm going with the latter, for my story.

 _-Tara Lux_

 _November, 2020_

 _A tiny village hamlet off the rocky coast of Norway_

As the frigid northerly winds furiously blew, the swift, purposeful footsteps continued on the snow-covered path toward the tiny, dimly lit village, where one solitary building was illuminated by golden light through its snow-battered windows.

The woman was attractive and slender, in her late thirties, rather short-statured, yet had a purposeful, surprisingly commanding presence about her. Her thick golden cloak, trimmed with black, swooshed in the wind, long, wavy black hair flying behind her as she swept up the cobbled street towards the dimly-lit building. She had a massive, threatening black crossbow strapped across her narrow back, along with a small burlap satchel, the contents of which jiggled and clanged as she walked.

She stepped into the tiny, dimly-lit inn, which had an almost ancient feel to it, as though it had been a working mill of many centuries that had later turned into a cozy inn to accommodate weary travelers who happened upon the tiny village in the desolate, dead tundra of this hamlet on the rocky coast of the North Sea.

She had made sure to select a regular village, a Muggle village. She could not risk detection by the Ministry, who was sure to be tracking any sighting of her. It was simply too dangerous.

When the sleepy-looking innkeeper handed her a large, rusty iron key to an upstairs room, she thanked him kindly and started toward the corner stairwell, eager to get a small bit of rest before the dangerous and arduous task ahead. She had been travelling by foot, train, and horseback for the better part of three weeks, all alone and in constant peril from forces both natural and Magical alike.

After those three weeks of perilous solitary travel, she was finally here, so close to it, so close to _him_.

"Hold on a minute, miss," came the skeptical voice of the innkeeper, in Norwegian.

The woman had been studying the Norse language for the better part of two months, ever since he had been taken away, and though her grasp of it was good, she could only verbally communicate in broken Norwegian. She had never been as sharp a student as him.

" _Ja, hva_?" she asked, turning around.

"That… er, crossbow. I can't allow such a weapon in the inn, you see."

"It's for hunting wild boar, it is…"

"What? We don't have wild boar in Norway this time of year."

"I know, I meant wild reindeer, I brought it here to hunt wild reindeer."

The innkeeper stared at her as his hand inched toward a Muggle telephone inches away. "We don't allow such weapons in the inn, miss."

The woman turned and walked slowly up to the innkeeper's desk. The room was empty, silent but for the two of them.

"Don't do that," she said quietly. "I know my equipment looks a bit suspicious, but I am here with a purpose to get something very important done. Now, if you'll allow me, I'd like to head upstairs to get a bit of rest."

His hand darted further toward the phone, his pale eyes wide.

Her hand flew to her wand in her cloak pocket, but she did not draw it.

"Do not fear me," she whispered in a pleading tone. "I am not here to harm you!"

"I know about them," he hissed in Norwegian. "I'm no Muggle, I'm a bloody Squib! I know about you Wizard folk, and I know about that terrible prison fortress on the island in the sea!"

The woman stepped back a bit, her face falling. She'd thought this was a Muggle establishment; how could she have made such a grave mistake?

She began to whisper the words to a spell but stopped herself. She wanted to avoid hexing an innocent man who was simply fearful, not harmful.

"I am not here to harm you," she repeated, and put her wand back in her cloak pocket, holding her hands up to gain trust. "I am a friend to you. Please... I _understand_."

The man narrowed his eyes. "Oh, do you? And how?"

"My whole family are Muggles. I'm – I'm what they like to call a Mudblood," said the woman. "I know what it feels like to be scared, to be persecuted. I've lived my whole life this way, and I would never do anything to hurt anyone, much less someone like a Squib or a Muggle."

The innkeeper's hand slid slowly away from the telephone. His expression lightened somewhat as he seemed to consider what she'd said.

"What brings you here to this village, then? There's nothing up here in these parts."

Her dark-brown eyes shone as she spoke with a purpose, before turning around to head up the cobbled, ancient stairwell. She wanted to tell the truth, but knew secrecy was of the essence, so she spoke earnestly, yet vaguely.

"I'm here to get my husband."


End file.
